


I'd Do It Over Again (To Keep You With Me)

by the_sinnamon_roll_writes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, I do love badass Aziraphale, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Torture, but I'm also a lazy fuck soooo, considering writing a second chapter where Az goes and kicks some ass, idk how to tag it doesn't happen in the story, the rest is just straight up beating crowleyup w/ some dickbag demons, there are two points where it's implied, we'll see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sinnamon_roll_writes/pseuds/the_sinnamon_roll_writes
Summary: Crowley has some bad (and repressed) memories of some of his time down under, and Aziraphale wants to help when he finds out.I struggled a bit with the rating here- there are no graphic descriptions of non-con (nothings even actually stated, really), but it is implied that it might've happened in the graphic descriptions of torture. I'm not sure that it warranted that tag, but I decided to play it safe and include it.





	1. That's How We Do It Down Under

Domestic life with Aziraphale had taken to Crowley quite well. The more time they spent together, the more secure he grew in their relationship, and he craved that experience with a passion he hadn’t known existed. 

They were still careful, of course, with their conduct- they weren’t keen on risking bringing any higher power down on them by being too brash or using their powers too frivolously. But it felt so natural to both of them; after all the years they’d known each other, now they could be together openly, and the decision to move in together had happened without them even needing to talk about it. Casual touches started to become more and more common as well. There was no more pulling away when one of them brushed against the other. Then hand-holding. Then kissing. Soon enough, they were sharing a bed. Crowley slept better than he ever had before when he dozed off in Aziraphale’s arms, and the angel had actually taken to sleeping on occasion himself. 

In more and more ways as their relationship developed, the pair were starting to rub off on each other. Crowley found he was having an easier time expressing himself and opening up. After spending so much time under Hell’s thumb, he had learned to shy away from others and repress the urge to share with anyone. Anything that might’ve been misconstrued as weakness among his lot was incredibly dangerous, a lesson he had learned at great personal cost to himself. Slowly but surely though, his angel was helping him to unlearn those habits. He was far from being an open book, but he was getting better about it day by day. 

Aziraphale, on the other hand, had learned self-assertion and, as Crowley had playfully put it, ‘grown a bit more of a backbone.’ Not to say he had been weak before; on the contrary, Crowley had often thought of Aziraphale as an incredibly strong person. However, he used to have trouble standing up for what he wanted if he felt it went too far outside of the status quo. At Crowley’s insistence, he was learning to ask for- or sometimes simply do- what he desired.

For example, one night, just as they were climbing into bed, Aziraphale had surprised him when he leaned forward and pushed him back, pinning him down. Normally he loved it when his angel initiated contact and took charge, but this was... disturbingly familiar. Something was creeping up on him, making him feel uneasy. Especially when Aziraphale took his hands and pushed them down above Crowley’s head to start pressing kisses (and the occasional playful nip) to his neck and collarbone. 

_Suddenly a hand was grabbing his wrists and a huge body was climbing up to straddle his chest and pin him down. He was almost twice Crowley’s size, so when he planted himself on Crowley’s chest, he felt the air leaving his lungs. Breathing was impossible and-_

“Az-“ he cut off with a low, desperate moan when Aziraphale kissed him heavily, his hands sliding down to his chest. The angel thought nothing of it when Crowley’s breath caught below him- from his limited knowledge on the matter, it was normal for breathing patterns to change in these situations as the body shifted into a more sensual state and pumped blood more rapidly throughout the circulatory system. Something like that. 

_-It felt like his lungs were burning. He wanted to scream or cry out, even just to whimper, but he wasn’t able to get enough air in to make a peep. The insidious laughter was chilling, threatening, cruel beyond belief-_

“Mmm...Zira-“ 

Aziraphale started pressing kisses along his face, trailing from his right ear down to his lips. 

_-A demon’s face loomed over him, leaning over to the right side of his face and inhaling deeply. Sharp claws grabbed at his throat and squeezed. This wasn’t intended to strangle, this was more malicious. This was meant to draw blood. Meant to hurt._

_‘You smell scared Crowley. No cocky remarks? Witty jokes?’-_

“Wait-“

_-Harsh hands grabbed at him, promising pain. More than he could bear. He was relieved of his clothes despite his protests, and shoved down flat on his back. Then the real torture began. Things done to his body, suddenly and with no warning, hurting more than he could ever imagine. Heaven, he couldn’t have dreamed this up in a thousand years- it wasn’t just the pain, the sheer shame of it was enough to make him cry-_

_“Az-ziraphale-_ s-stop- please-“ tears were starting to flood Crowley’s eyes as he finally found it in himself to jerk away. “I can’t- I’m s-sorry-“

“What is it?” The angel’s hands went flying up over his head and he jumped back, like Crowley had just pointed a gun at him when it finally registered that something was wrong (and boy, did he feel like quite the dumbass for not noticing before). By no means was he an expert on sex, but he knew for a fact that crying shouldn’t be a part of it. “Don’t apologize Crowley, just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I- I- don’t think- can’t tell you- s-sorry- I’m s-sorry-” Crowley was starting to hyperventilate now and Aziraphale was left at a complete loss for words. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his demon in a hug- for all he knew, it had been physical contact that had set this off. But that didn’t make sense; he’d hugged and kissed Crowley several times before without seeing anything remotely like this. Unless... Aziraphale’s stomach turned when he found himself wondering if Crowley felt this way every time they touched. He had never seen Crowley like this before though. Surely he would’ve said something before now?

“Dear, it’s alright. Take a deep breath, there you go. Let me help you. Whatever’s wrong, we can get through it. I need to know though, I need you to let me in.”

Crowley shook his head rapidly with a sad little whimper. _“Can’t.”_

“Why not?”

“Please just s-stop asking.“

Aziraphale hesitated before slowly holding out his arm, a silent invitation, making no move otherwise to try and force the demon to come to him. Crowley stared at him a moment before scooting over and burying his face in the angel’s soft shoulder. He shivered once when he felt an arm come down around his shoulder, but quickly reached up and caught Aziraphale’s hand before he could pull away. 

“Darling,” Aziraphale said softly after a few moments of quiet, “I won’t ever make you do something you don’t want to do. If you don’t want to have sex, then we won’t have sex. If you don’t want to hug, then we won’t hug. If you want me to stay ten feet away from you at all times, just say the word. Please, don’t ever think I’ll try and force you into something.”

It was hard to pin a mood to the soft hum he got in reply. Aziraphale wanted to think that it was an ‘okay, I’m starting to calm down now’ kind of hum, and not an ‘I’m incapable of saying anything right now without completely melting down again,’ kind of hum, but without looking at Crowley’s face, it was impossible to tell. He took it as a good sign when he felt Crowley’s arms snake around his middle and clutch at him fervently. Nothing bad could come of giving him a little more time to quiet down. Breathing slowly, Aziraphale nuzzled his nose down into the messy red hair in front of him as he gently started rubbing his demon’s back. Under other circumstances, he likely would’ve been delighted to just sit here with Crowley in his arms. 

Aziraphale gave it a few minutes before he spoke again, and when he did, he kept his tone soft. “Better?”

His heart damn near soared when Crowley nodded into his chest. He would take ‘better’ for now- anything that wasn’t a ‘no’ was a win in his book. 

“Crowley?”

“Hm.” 

“I know you don’t want me to ask-“

“No, I don’t. I’m guessing you’re going to anyway though.” Crowley’s voice was muffled by Aziraphale’s body. 

“I need to know what triggered this. Love, I don’t ever want to put you through this again, but I can’t avoid it if you won’t tell me what it’s about.”

“I c-can’t talk about it.”

“Well... could you show me?” Aziraphale asked, gently leaning away. His question was met with wide yellow eyes and, after a moment, a small, reluctant nod. The angel wasn’t giving up on this, and since Crowley’s voice would fail him the minute he tried to say more than five words, letting Aziraphale dig around in his mind was probably the next best thing. “Do you know how?”

“Not really, but I’m a fast learner... guide me through it.”

The angel nodded, and shifted so that Crowley was no longer resting on him. With slow, deliberate movements to avoid startling him, Aziraphale took his demon’s hands and leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. 

“Eyes closed. Try and relax. Open your mind, and think about what it is you’re going to show me.”

“I can’t do that and relax at the same time, angel.”

“Hush. Just try. Deep breaths. I promise, I won’t dig into anything you don’t want me to see.”

It took a few minutes- despite the growing he’d done, Crowley still had some very high walls around himself. But with enough gentle prodding and reassurance, he was able to connect to his demon’s memories like tuning into a staticky radio. 

He wasn’t at all prepared for what he found.

_The room around him was too hot, in an unbearable, I’m-going-to-catch-on-fire-and-burn-to-death kind of way. Sweat was pouring from his body, mixing in with the blood pooling beneath him. Was it his blood? It had to be his blood, that explained why he was in so much pain. Oh, he was in the middle of being flayed alive. Three other demons surrounded him, each grinning maliciously and wielding various instruments of torture that made him want to cry. No doubt they were experts at putting them to good use. Or bad use. Whatever. Didn’t matter. What mattered was the already excruciating amount of pain he was in because from the looks of things, they were only just getting started._

_‘So what made you do it?’_

_‘Is it love then? Is our little Crowley in love?’_

_‘Didn’t think our kind could love! You oughta show us how it’s done!’_

_The metal bar between his teeth prevented him from saying anything in response. Not that the demons torturing him actually wanted a response besides the muffled screech they got as they dragged a knife down his back, tearing off a slice of skin roughly the size of his arm. They weren’t interested in getting any information from him. They weren’t even really interested in punishing him, per say. No, they were simply using him to get their rocks off. He was a toy for them to use in whatever terrible, degrading way they wanted, and they all knew it._

_‘Thought love was burned out of us demons when we first came down here. How’d you get away with some then? Eh? Where you hiding it? You gonna make us guess?’_

_A sick game- the wicked gleam in their eyes made it clear that even if he could talk, they wouldn’t listen. He only gave them a level glare back. The fuckers were going to do unspeakable things to him no matter what, he might as well be ornery while he still had the fortitude for it. Still, he hated the way he flinched when the biggest one swung around something that could only be described as a massive, sharpened metal club._

_‘We heat this up a bit, and I bet it’ll burn just about anything left in you right out,’ he said with a twisted grin that clearly said he was enjoying this too much. ‘Now, I’ve got a few ideas of where to stick this first, but I’m open to suggestions. Do you have any preferences, Crowley? We can give you some new holes, or we can start with what you have-‘_

Aziraphale jerked away, one hand flying over his mouth in a useless attempt to hide his gag reflex. Tears glistened in his eyes when he finally started to get his bearings again- it was a total 180, going from that miserable, dingy room back to their calm and cozy home. Despite his efforts to hide it, the angel had no doubt that it was clear how painfully short of breath he was. “Oh, _Crowley-_ when did that happen? And _why?”_

Even without his sunglasses, it was difficult to read Crowley’s face beyond the faint pink in his cheeks and the slight grimace he wore. He had gotten rather skilled at hiding reactions from people- and he was adamantly refusing to look Aziraphale in the eye, making it all the more difficult. Still, he wasn’t able to keep from shaking ever-so-slightly, and that gave away plenty. “End of the French Revolution. They...” he hesitated, squeezing his eyes shut before he continued. “They didn’t fancy me setting an angel free from the Bastille. Couldn’t talk myself out of that one.”

His eyes opened, and he immediately regretted saying anything. The look of pure horror on his angel’s face was exactly why he hadn’t told him before. But he simply couldn’t bring himself to lie. Not to Aziraphale. Not after everything they’d been through. 

_“Why didn’t you tell me?_ Wait, was _that_ why you slept through the next century?!”

Crowley flinched at the tone, then cursed himself again when Aziraphale somehow looked even guiltier. He wanted to promise his angel that he’d done nothing wrong, that he didn’t blame him for anything, but Crowley knew that right now he wouldn’t be able to say a single thing to make this situation any better. “Yeah. It was a long time ago. I’ve moved on, angel. Mostly.”

“Crowley, two hundred years for beings like us is hardly a long time. I remember the French Revolution like it was yesterday, and I know you’re memory is just as good as mine. Oh, love, you should’ve told me. I can’t believe- all these years you’ve been hiding this.”

“You know that Hell tortures people. It’s nothing new. That’s their big thing down there, breaking us in.” Crowley’s voice cracked on ‘breaking’ and he had to close his eyes and take a deep breath again. “Why is this surprising to you?”

“Of course I knew they torture, but I never imagined it was to this extent. That was just...”

“Evil, I know. And it just keeps getting worse down there. I say humans come up with worse things than any demon can think of, but that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from them. There are some damn creative human souls on the drawing board in hell. And creative and evil never produce good things,” Crowley said quietly. For once, the expression on his face hinted at his true age. Years and years of sorrow and pain were catching up to him, and left him looking tired and resigned- a look Aziraphale had never seen on his face before. “Once they’ve got you on the rack, anything is fair game. Doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done. Even those on the Dark Council have been there. Getting caught stealing a blessed chunk of sulfur carries the same sentence as saving an angel. Only crime that earns a harsher punishment than the rest is killing another demon.”

So Hell really was as bad as everyone feared. Worse, even. Aziraphale suddenly found himself understanding why Crowley had been so reluctant to allow him to go down there in his place. It got him wondering- if he had known about this before, would he still have agreed to swap places with the demon? The thought that he might’ve been put through that was... upsetting, to say the very least. Almost as upsetting as the fact that Crowley had already been through it. “Did you tell anyone at all? To try and get help?”

If Crowley recognized the unspoken, ‘why didn’t you come to _me?,’_ then he ignored it. Instead, he snorted. 

“Of course not! How would that conversation even go? ‘Hello, I’m a six-thousand year old demon who’s suffering from a mild case of PTSD from being tortured out of my mind down under, could I get some coping techniques?’ It’s not like we have therapists to talk to. The whole point is to fuck you up, getting help would be counterproductive to them,” Crowley said with no small amount of bitterness. The scowl on his face was more serpentine than anything Aziraphale could remember seeing on it in a long time; not for any particular resemblance to an actual snake, but more for the pure, chilling venom it held. 

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long do they... keep you there?”

Crowley shrugged, trying to go for careless and missing the mark by about a galaxy. “Until they get bored with you or one of the Dark Council tells them to stop. Usually no more than a few months.”

 _“Months?!_ Good lord, Crowley, how did you survive that?!” Aziraphale had hardly endured the few minutes that had been shared with him. It was all he could do to keep from throwing his arms around his demon’s neck and start crying again. Months of that, and still able to come back fighting. Crowley had just officially gone down in Aziraphale’s book as the strongest, bravest person he knew. 

“Sorta in the demon job description,” Crowley answered, trying to offer up a nonchalant grin. This wasn’t a conversation he ever planned on having with anyone, and it was shaping up to be much harder than he might’ve expected. He knew that it was just Aziraphale, and that it would've been okay to be a bit more expressive, but letting go of his cool exterior and being vulnerable to this capacity was setting him on edge- sharing this experience, this _weakness_ with anyone else in his life could've easily resulted in his getting skinned alive for it. No self-respecting demon would ever dream of admitting to such fragility. “Every now and then, they like to remind us of what we are, kinda like a... refresher course, or something. You, uh, get pretty used to rolling with the punches. It’s just in some cases they get a bit carried away and it’s... a little harder.”

“Was that them getting carried away, or was that par for the course?”

Crowley only shrugged again, knowing for sure that his angel wouldn’t like the answer. That time had been by far the worst. Most demons didn’t particularly like angels, and the thought of helping one was more than enough to earn a longer, harsher sentence. Aziraphale had experienced only a small chunk through his eyes, and that had been downright loving compared to what they’d done to him later on. In truth, Crowley was glad that he had stopped when he did- he probably would’ve kicked him out if he’d continued rooting around much longer. His angel didn’t need to see what they were capable of down there. He didn’t need to see- or god forbid, _feel_ \- the vast array of torture devices, and how they had been used on his body. He didn’t need to feel the different ways he’d been hurt, violated, humiliated beyond all reason. Crowley had to suppress another shudder at the thought- not just the thought of what had been done to him, but the thought of Aziraphale feeling it all through his memories. 

“I- I thought you said they liked you down there,” Aziraphale said weakly, like he was still processing. 

“They did. Didn’t matter though. You break the rules, you get punished, end of story. There’s no reduced sentencing for bad behavior. A good deed is a good deed, angel, and you’re not really a demon if you have it in you to do one.”

“And it was all because of me...” the angel whispered despondently. “Why? Why would you even risk-?”

Crowley moved fast, grabbing Aziraphale’s face and leaning forward to press their foreheads together again. “Don’t. Don’t even think about finishing that sentence, or I swear I will leave right now. I made the choice to help you knowing what the consequences would be if I was found out, and I don’t regret it. I would do it over again, without a second thought.”

“But-“ Aziraphale stopped talking with a sigh at the glare he was receiving. 

“You know blessed well why I did it.” Crowley’s face softened. “Thinking about you while I was down there- it was what got me through. You’re worth so much more than all of that, angel.”

The chills Aziraphale might’ve felt at the intensity of his tone were washed away by the warmth that came with the words. They would’ve been wonderful to hear from a normal person- coming from Crowley, they meant more than the entire universe. All the stars could die, all the planets collapse, every moon explode, and he would’ve been euphoric, knowing that they came from this person that he loved _so much-_ Aziraphale couldn’t help but to lean in and kiss his demon tenderly, hoping he was pouring all the love he felt into it. 

“Crowley,” he breathed, “I’m so sorry you went through that because of me. I will never, _ever_ let anything like that happen to you again. I swear, on everything, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Crowley melted into the kiss, heart actually _fluttering_ at the promise. How he deserved this, he had no idea, but he thanked every power that was out there for it. Shifting to sit in Aziraphale’s lap and wrapping his long legs around Aziraphale’s waist, Crowley broke off the kiss and nestled his face down where the angel’s neck met his collar. Much to his surprise, he realized that he had tears trailing down his cheeks. His hands balled up the back of Aziraphale’s shirt and held on tightly, anchoring himself there in the moment. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” Aziraphale was gratified to feel Crowley relaxing into him. “You’re okay. You’re safe with me.”

He kept on whispering soft promises, carefully stroking his hair and rubbing his back until he felt that Crowley was completely limp in his arms. With a tired sigh, Aziraphale carefully laid him down at his side, allowing a hand to cup Crowley’s soft cheek a moment before laying down himself. He’d grown rather used to sleeping alongside his demon. However, he had a feeling that tonight- and likely several nights to come- he was going to be kept awake by the memory of what he just saw. Although Crowley hadn’t said anything about it, Aziraphale knew that there had been much more than he’d been shown. Enough to make Crowley sleep an entire century away. The nightmares he must’ve suffered... Aziraphale shuddered to think about it. For God’s sake, _he_ was going to be having nightmares about it. 

Beside him, Crowley hummed quietly, and Aziraphale felt an arm fall across his waist. Smiling, the angel scooted over and pulled Crowley into his arms, allowing him to snuggle back into his chest. For all his talk about being bad, his little snake really did have a sweet streak. Just looking at him now in his sleep, it was hard to imagine anyone wanting to hurt him, let alone actually going through with it. Unable to help himself, Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed another tender kiss to Crowley’s cool forehead as he thought of the promise he’d just made. 

He would be damned before he let anyone touch his demon again.


	2. That's How We Do It Up There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good writers: update on a schedule, has the story all planned out before they post, actually edits their work
> 
> Me: waits a month and a half, rewrites a million times because I have no clue how I want it to go, then finally barfs up this shit. 
> 
> I got there though! A jillion million thanks to everyone who commented, I guarantee you I've read them all at least dozen times and every time absolutely makes my day. So here, have some angry Az avenging his boo. All demon names are fake, expect for the Duke, and his name I shortened. I don't really know why, it just made me feel a bit better.

Aziraphale had eventually ended up falling asleep at Crowley’s side, and woke up angry with a thirst for vengeance that quite frankly, alarmed him. 

Actually, he woke up in a cold, terrified sweat that quickly turned to anger when it registered that he was not, in fact, in Hell being tortured for helping a friend, but rather in bed with the demon who’s memories he had just been dreaming of. The thought (feeling) of being skinned wasn’t a pleasant one to wake up to, nor was it something he was at all used to. Looking down at Crowley- so sweet in his sleep- it was hard to imagine anyone wanting to pin him down and brutalize him. Sure, he was an asshole, but he’d never seriously hurt anyone-

Which was exactly the problem. He was a terrible demon. He _saved_ an _angel._ How much more un-demonic could someone act? Damned fool. 

“Stop thinking so loud. ‘S making it hard to sleep.”

Aziraphale jumped at the muffled voice beside him. “What?”

“You’re thinking too loud,” Crowley repeated, turning to face him. “I’m good at picking up negative vibes, Aziraphale, same as you can pick up on positive ones. ‘S a lot easier causing trouble when you can smell trouble already brewing. And it’s coming off you ‘n waves.”

“Are we going to talk about last night?”

“Do we have to?” Crowley asked wearily. It was, in his mind, far too early in the morning to be having serious discussions. Especially after the harrowing one they’d had last night. “I think we talked enough already. Can’t we just sleep some more?”

“We’ve been in bed for...” Aziraphale paused to check the clock. “Thirteen hours, my dear.”

“And?”

Aziraphale sat up at the edge of the bed, ignoring Crowley’s weak noise of protest and outstretched arms. “Crowley, you should have told me.”

Crowley reacted with all the maturity that could be expected of a six-thousand year old being by hiding his face back in his pillow and groaning loudly. “I knew you’d insist on doing this. There’s no point. It happened, I’m over it,” he insisted into the pillow. “No big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal! It’s clearly still bothering you. And I,” Aziraphale said more softly, stretching out to gently angle Crowley’s face towards him, “can’t stand to see anything bothering you.”

“Ugh,” Crowley groaned dramatically. Those blessed puppy eyes got him all the time. “Fine. What do you want me to say?”

The angel paused when he became aware that he wasn’t sure what he wanted Crowley to say. That he was mad? Scared? Sad? “Just give me something other than ‘you’re over it’. Give me the truth.”

Sighing, Crowley scooted closer to Aziraphale until he could rest his head on the angel’s lap and look up at him. “That’s all I can be though. Over it. If I let myself dwell on it... that’s not how demons work. We learn our lessons and move on.”

Aziraphale snorted, raising his eyebrows at that. “Pardon my language, but you, my love, are a shit demon. ‘Learn your lesson’? You’re literally in bed with an angel.”

“Hey, I’ve racked up more souls for them than any other demon stationed up here. Maybe not by actually hurting anyone, but my methods are effective. And for all you know, I’m trying to seduce you into Falling.”

“You’ll have a hard time doing that if you have a breakdown any time we get intimate.” Aziraphale winced internally at the blunt words, but Crowley accepted them with a weary nod, looking apprehensive. “Oh dear- I didn’t mean- I meant what I said last night, that I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I don’t care if all we do is just sit together like this. I’m just concerned that you’ve let this issue fester for too long without... addressing it.”

Crowley relaxed visibly when he felt fingers running through his hair. His eyes slid back shut, and the only hint that Aziraphale caught that he wasn’t going back to sleep was the slow, deep breaths that he only ever did when he was thinking over something hard. 

“I- look, there’s a reason I don’t work Down There. You were right, I _am_ a shit demon when it comes to the hands-on torture bits. Always have hated pain, unlike any of the others. ‘S annoying. They all get off on it, make it into a goddamn art. So I got myself stationed up here, and managed to avoid that for the most part. Only had to go through it once or twice a century at most, if I fucked up hard. So I guess I should be... grateful? That it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been? Instead of-er, dwelling?”

Aziraphale had a strong suspicion that Crowley had just come to that lame conclusion off the top of his head. Either that or he made it up. It was nonsense, of course- Crowley had every right to be angry about it in Aziraphale’s mind, and the fact that he thought he should be _thankful_ for it was rather infuriating. “You don’t need to be grateful. You were given a rotten hand, and it’s okay to not be happy with it.”

“I’m fine with my hand so long as it keeps me with you, love. Don’t care what I have to go through for it.”

“But- ugh, Crowley, why are you so difficult?”

“Uh, demon?”

“I swear, if you keep on playing that card... my dear, you are hardly a very _demonic_ demon. Not in the traditional sense. Your tricks don’t hurt humans- usually. Not directly, anyways.”

“They do that just fine on their own,” Crowley chimed in. 

_“Anyways,_ I do wish you would try and... like yourself, just a bit more,” Aziraphale finished weakly. It wasn’t exactly the point he wanted to make, but he found himself unsure of what that would be regardless. At least it was a point he could stand behind. “I don’t like seeing you feeling like you aren’t worth it. You are, to me. Oh dear, I’m not doing a very good job of expressing myself, am I?”

Crowley’s eyes were wide, his head cocked to the side as he listened to his angel speak. He wasn’t used to the idea that he might not exactly have deserved everything Hell did, despite being a demon. Thousands of years had him accepting his lot in life- only his angel could make him question that after all this time. 

“I swear, angel, you’re the only person who would try and make a bloody _demon_ sound redeemable.”

 _“I_ don’t make you redeemable- you’ve made yourself redeemable!”

The demon chuckled and shook his head, his expression unreadable, even after all the years they’d known each other. Aziraphale didn’t really expect him to accept his words just yet, but one day, he swore he would make Crowley believe that even if he weren’t _good,_ per se, he most certainly wasn’t undeserving of a little (or a lot) of angelic love. With a heavy sigh, Aziraphale reached out and stroked Crowley’s cheek. The anger he felt earlier sparked again, looking into his demon’s soft golden eyes, and Aziraphale was all too aware that there was only one thing he could do that would abate it. 

He also knew without a doubt that there was no way in Heaven, Hell, Earth, or anywhere in between that Crowley would tell him anything about his torturers. Briefly, Aziraphale considered diving back into his demon’s memories and hunting down the information himself, but he immediately felt guilty for the thought. He couldn’t invade Crowley’s privacy like that, no matter the circumstances. Besides, he wasn’t stupid- Crowley would kick him out before he got his hands on any useful information, and he would be left with no knowledge and a very cross demon. 

Best to do it the long way. And that meant taking a trip back to London to find some trouble. 

•••

Heaven, on the rare occasion that they felt it was appropriate to send an angel to Earth, generally did _not_ send out their seraphim and cherubim. The only time higher level heavenly workers got involved was in matters of utmost importance- and most of that happened back when the world was relatively new. Aziraphale had to assume that this was how Hell operated as well. It was, after all, run by former angels; it made sense that they would have similar policies. So when Aziraphale began to stick his nose out and look for demonic activity not caused by Crowley, he wasn’t surprised at all to find a low-level demon at the root of it, nor was he surprised to find it in the big city. Apparently the one thing Hell had learned from his demon was that working with huge groups of humans could be more effective for gathering souls. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your side), no other demon had half the mind for mass recruitment that Crowley did. 

A low-ranking demon was exactly what he was hoping for. Someone who wouldn’t be missed. Not that anyone lower than Beelzebub would actually be missed in Hell- they didn’t care too awfully much about underlings Down Under unless they were assigned an important task, and that only ever happened when the demon in question made a big fuss over they mayhem they may or may not have caused. By some stroke of luck, the one Aziraphale caught late one afternoon whispering in the ear of a gentleman that _‘perhaps cat-calling that young lady wouldn’t actually be that bad’_ was about as run-of-the-mill a demon as could be. 

He knew he probably should’ve tried to stop her temptation, being an angel and all, but he was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. He wasn’t on a work mission right now anyways. Instead, he waited and watched with a small, disapproving frown until the man walked away from the demon, looking slightly dazed but having every intention of harassing a young woman walking down the street. It was only when she had her back completely turned to Aziraphale that he made his move, focusing all his energy on the demon in front of him and snapping. 

Performing miracles could be as easy as drawing a stick figure or as hard as drawing the New York skyline from memory with an eyeliner pencil. It simply depended on the miracle. Putting a human into a trance was on the easy end of things. 

Putting a demon into a trance took a bit more effort. He probably would’ve had an easier time simply capturing her and torturing some damn answers out of her, but again, he was hoping to avoid detection. It helped when the demon was unsuspecting, as this one was, but even with her guard down, it still took a great deal of concentration for Aziraphale to put her under. When he made his way over to stand in front of her, he was pleased to see that she was wearing the mild expression of someone who was just driving home after a lovely day at the beach. 

“What is your name?” Aziraphale asked before reminding himself that her name really wasn’t important. 

“Aymar,” she replied meekly. 

“Aymar. Hello.” He wasn’t great at the whole interrogation thing. “Do you happen to know who tortures people in Hell?”

“We all do.”

Right. Hell. Dumb question. “Do you know... who’s in charge of torturing people in Hell?”

“Satan.”

Aziraphale groaned. His questions were too general. There were countless demons in Hell- there was no way he’d get the names he needed this way. Glancing around unnecessarily, Aziraphale stepped closer to Aymar and carefully touched his forehead against hers. Most of the humans passing by all around them didn’t seem to notice; the few stubborn ones that resisted Aziraphale’s weak cloak couldn’t find it in their minds to think it odd that two people were standing forehead-to-forehead in the middle of the sidewalk. The angel closed his eyes and summoned up images of the demons he had seen through Crowley’s eyes, willing them into the thoughts of the one in front of him. “Do you know who these three are?”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if it worked. He’d never projected memories on to other people before without them first having requested it. But then she nodded, and Aziraphale allowed himself a smile. 

“Give me their names. Tell me who’s who.”

“Estrik is on the left, Hadrin to the right, and Duke Berith is the biggest one.” 

A Duke of Hell. Aziraphale sighed. It wasn’t that he was anxious about facing a Duke- he _was_ a warrior after all- but it might make things a bit more complicated in terms of access. 

“What can you tell me about them?”

“Estrik and Hadrin have both received commendations for their work in the seventh circle. Duke Berith has been absent for the past century or so.”

“Absent?”

“Yes.”

“Where has he been? Are there any rumors?” Aziraphale asked with a frown. He was going to be quite disappointed if that particular demon was dead. It was the one he wanted to get his hands on the most. “He hasn’t died, has he?”

“No one knows. Some have said he’s been wandering among the damned looking for new ideas.”

That would make sense. Crowley always did say that humans could come up with things far crueler than anything Hell could produce. He had a name- as long as Berith wasn’t dead, Aziraphale would be able to summon him. And if no one in Hell had seen him in a hundred years, then that was actually an advantage; it meant no one would notice he was gone for good anytime soon.

“Would you say they would be easy to get to?”

“Just as easy as any other demon,” Aymar replied smoothly. Aziraphale nodded absently, pulling away from her as he did so. He had the information he needed.

“You will awake as soon as I am gone. And you will have absolutely no memory of this interaction ever taking place. The last thing you will remember is successfully tempting that man,” he stressed. Really, it should’ve gone without saying that she wouldn’t remember anything, but he couldn’t be leaving any loose ends. The only better guarantee he could get would be to kill her, and for now, he’d rather keep the body count contained to his targets. 

Estrik, Hadrin, and Berith. With names come power, and now Aziraphale had three. 

Three names and a righteous fury the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Lucifer himself Fell. 

•••

 _‘Oh dear, I wore the wrong shoes for this,’_ Aziraphale thought as he gingerly stepped around the small puddles of black goo that were once Hadrin and Estrik. Had he been thinking about it, he would’ve worn a darker, throw-around pair instead of his usual white dress shoes. Darker clothes, too. Really, he’d made some poor choices in his wardrobe. But he liked to maintain appearances, and casual shoes just didn’t say ‘Angel’ like he wanted to right now. 

His goals in this endeavor weren’t very complex. He wanted to find the demons he’d seen hurting Crowley, he wanted them dead, and he wanted them to know who it was that killed them. He wasn’t necessarily looking to inflict any extra pain on the two lower demons- death by holy water for a demon was already excruciating, and far more final than anything they had done to his Crowley. They felt it until the very last sizzling drop of them was completely erased. At least, the first two demons he’d taken care of certainly had. And that was enough for Aziraphale. 

The Duke of Hell- Berith- was another story. Aziraphale had never been fond of the whole ‘just following orders’ ploy that Hadrin and Estrik played; he had heard it used far too many time to justify horrible actions. But in this particular case, Aziraphale was far more interested in getting his hands on the puppet master. The one who had caused the most damage.

While it was difficult to find legitimate spells for summoning non-human entities, they weren’t actually all that hard to perform once you had one. There were so many fakes floating around out there that, if you lacked access to a bookshop full of carefully collected tomes from days when occult practices were taken more seriously, it was practically impossible to find one that would work. Aziraphale, of course, still had his shop. Or rather, he still had his books, and a spacious place to keep them where he could retreat to if he needed time to himself, just as Crowley had his greenhouse. 

There had been some books that, when he was masquerading as a bookshop owner, he refused to let anywhere near his shelves, for the simple fear of humans even laying their eyes on them. They were chock full of real, dangerous information on all things supernatural and occult. They were books that Aziraphale kept not because he particularly treasured them as he did the rest of his collection, but because he couldn’t stand the idea of them being out loose in society. Detailing ways of summoning and trapping angels and demons alike, practices to bind them, to force your will upon them- surefire ways to damn a human soul.

These were the books he’d turned to to reach his goal. The ancient magic they held had been created before time, with laws that absolutely no one could violate. God had created them Herself, and to Aziraphale’s knowledge, even She couldn’t break them. Or at least, She wouldn’t. 

Armed with that knowledge, Aziraphale had found an old, empty warehouse on the outskirts of London and set to work. Estrik and Hadrin went down easily- a quick confirmation of who they were, a brief explanation of who he was, and a bucket of holy water each and he was left with two gooey black spots on the floor. 

Now for the Duke. Berith. Aziraphale went about making the room a bit less comfortable for a demon; cooled the air, burned some sage, blessed and checked on the old water pipes in the building. He even went so far as to consecrate the ground below it. He capitalized on every demonic weakness he knew about before he took a deep breath and, for the third time, started the summoning ritual. He’d just passed halfway through the process when he saw a figure starting to flicker into being in the trap before him. It must’ve been a long time since Berith was summoned, if he were judging by how fast he gave in to the spell. Apparently he’d been so out-of-touch he’d forgotten that being summoned was something that could still happen to him. 

“Berith?”

“Is that _sage?”_ The demon in the circle spoke with a strong southern accent that nearly made Aziraphale laugh. He probably would’ve, had the situation not been so serious. Of all the American accents he _might’ve_ expected to hear, the unfamiliar twang of the Deep South was absolutely not it. 

“It is. I have it on good authority that you’re a high ranking demon, and I figured an extra layer of protection couldn’t hurt.” That was a lie, and both the demon and the angel knew it. The trap Aziraphale had set was more than enough to render the demon helpless- the burning sage was just adding insult to injury. Or more accurately, injury to insult, given the way the demon’s lungs were starting to burn. It wasn’t lethal, but for now, Aziraphale wasn’t going for lethal. He was going for painful. “Now, are you Berith?”

The demon in the circle studied him closely like he was weighing options that he didn’t really have before nodding. They both already knew full well that he was- Aziraphale had summoned him by name, the only way he _wouldn’t_ have gotten Berith was if the demon had been dead. So in his mind, the question had to have some deeper purpose that Berith just couldn’t see yet. It had been centuries since he’d last left Hell, and he had no way of knowing what all had changed up here. He hadn’t even considered that anyone would ever _want_ to bring him out of Hell. And now here he was, summoned up by an angel. 

“I heard you were missing for a century. What were you doing all that time?” Aziraphale asked flatly. It wasn’t actually crucial that he knew, but the question had been playing in the back of his mind since Aymar had mentioned it. And he figured it might be good to know if there was a chance he’d been among anyone who would notice his missing presence. 

“Spent some time around the souls we’ve got. Lot of interesting stuff to learn from humans, you know. American slavers? Nazis? They were some twisted fuckers. All kinds of brilliant ideas. Now, why did you summon me up here? Wanting to talk shop?”

“Don’t speak unless you’re answering a question. You torture people down there, correct?” Aziraphale was practically dripping in angelic rage, and that was enough to make even a higher level demon anxious. Had he not been trapped, Berith might not’ve been so concerned, but right now, he was totally powerless and at Aziraphale’s mercy. When he made no move to answer, Aziraphale continued, casually pulling out the rosary hanging around his neck from where it had been tucked beneath his shirt as he spoke. “I’m sure you already know the outcome of this encounter depends entirely upon you. How you leave will be decided on how you answer. Now, tell me the truth.”

Berith scowled, unused to being spoken to in such a way. “Yes, torture is a specialty of mine.”

“You’ve tortured the demon Crowley?”

Understanding seemed to light up the demon’s face as he put two and two together. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the angel he set free, aren’t you? Where was it he found you again? France? Can’t believe he’d put himself through all of that for you- I thought you would’ve at least been-”

With chilling calm, Aziraphale backhanded Berith, quickly wiping his hand off on a cloth and smiling pleasantly when the demon shut up and glared. “It was a simple ‘yes-or-no’ question, Berith.”

“What do you plan to do to me if I say yes?”

 _“Yes or no?_ I won’t ask again.” Something in Aziraphale’s face (or possibly the way his hands started glowing ominously) must’ve convinced Berith to take him seriously, because his eyes narrowed and he nodded sharply. “That’s better.”

Out of nowhere, almost like he was tending a child, Aziraphale reached out and brushed a bit of dirt off Berith’s shirt with the hand that still held his rosary. “Honestly, you demons are filthy. No wonder Crowley dislikes spending time with you lot- he’s the only demon with a sense of personal hygiene that I’ve ever met.”

“Why don’t you just send me back Downstairs already?” Berith growled, jerking back from the angel’s hand and the burning holy object in it. He was beyond eager to be free of the angel and off the scalding consecrated ground. “I show up reeking like Heaven and they’ll tear me apart. They’re not big on letting us fraternize with angels after the stunt Crawly pulled. Scared we’ll turn like he did. Anyone shows up with even a hint of angel on them can expect to spend the next few millennia being fed their own shit-filled intestines. That’s what you’re going for, right? I promise you, they can do worse than you ever could.”

“I’ve learned some interesting things about your lot from Crowley over the years. Not necessarily things he’s told me, mind, but just things I’ve picked up. You demons don’t have much of an issue with fire, do you? Even if it hurts, it won’t kill you. Not like us angels, at least.” Apparently Aziraphale wasn’t interested in the words coming out of Berith’s mouth. He spoke as though he’d already had all of this planned, and that was enough to make the demon start to feel panic- this blessed angel had a plan for him. No way would it be pleasant. 

“Not like you angels, no. Now are you going to let me out of here while I’m still in a decent mood or-”

“I’m surprised you haven’t noticed the smell yet. I would’ve thought it would stand out, even over the sage.” Aziraphale sounded mildly detached, but the careful way he was watching the demon betrayed his tone. 

“The fuck are you talking about? The only thing that stinks worse than your blessed sage is you and your holy bullshit!”

“Oh, I see. I suppose it would be hard to distinguish myself from the holy oil in your little trap there.” Aziraphale’s eyes damn near sparkled when he saw the realization dawning on the demon. “I know that regular fire can’t hurt you, and of course I’d imagine you’re fairly used to hellfire. But then I got to wondering; what about fire started with a holy accelerant? Do you think that would make a difference?

“Not that it matters if it does,” he continued over Berith’s protests, “because, as old as this building is, it _miraculously_ still has a functioning sprinkler system. Have you seen what holy water can do to a demon? I’ve seen it a couple of times myself. It’s not a very nice way to go.”

The angel’s grin was positively demonic as he watched the demon take it all in. 

Berith’s eyes widened and his skin blanched. “You- you can’t! I’ve done everything you said, answered everything you asked! You’re supposed to let me go, you promised!”

“Oh no, I apologize for the misunderstanding. I never made you any such promise. You won’t be leaving alive, dear fellow.”

“Wait! You kill a demon a-and- and- you’ll set the war off again! They’ll avenge me Down There! Yes! You were the one who worked so hard to stop the apocalypse, you don’t want to start it up again by killing me, r-right? Hell will know!”

“What will Hell know?” Aziraphale asked innocently. 

“Wha- that you killed me! That an angel killed a goddamned Duke of Hell!” Berith was practically screeching at this point, any fury that might’ve been in his features at one point totally erased by the all-encompassing fear there.

“And how will they know that? Only two people know what’s happening right now. One of us-” Aziraphale pointed to himself unnecessarily- “has no reason to tell Hell a thing. And the other one-“ he raised his eyebrows at Berith deliberately- “is going to be totally incapable of sharing anything with anyone very shortly.”

“If- wait, if you send me back to Hell, they’ll torture me! Holy water- that’s such a quick death, you don’t want it to be quick, right? You want me to suffer for what I did, don’t you? I tortured Crawly!” He didn’t really want to face Hell’s wrath, but at least that he would survive. If there was one thing demons valued, it was their own damn hides. 

The angel was unmoved. _“Crowley._ I’m not all that interested in making you suffer; I’m interested in stomping you out of existence. You’re going to die at my hands for what you did to him, Berith, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Besides, holy water isn’t _that_ quick a death. It’ll hurt the whole time.”

The demon spluttered, unable to come up with a coherent thought that might make any difference. Anger and fear took over after a quick second, and he started screaming panicked obscenities. “That damn traitor deserved everything I did to him! I wish I’d done worse! I should’ve done some more lasting damage- sliced his tongue out, chopped his cock off, carved his eyes out of his skull and fucked the-!”

“What a poor choice of dying words.” Aziraphale cut him off, and although he’d hardly raised his voice, somehow his words seemed to ring in their ears. Any guilt he might’ve felt at the horror in Berith’s eyes was eclipsed by the memory- the godawful _feeling_ of his blade dragging down Crowley’s back. He stared down the panicking demon indifferently before snapping his fingers. 

His theory of another possible use for holy oil was proven effective. 

_“No!”_ Berith howled when the trap lit up in holy flames. He had experienced copious amounts of fires over his lifetime. Not one of them had burned like this one. Desperately, he tried breaking free from the binding circle, but no matter how many times he threw himself at the invisible boundary that trapped him, nothing happened. The flames were licking at his ankles now, and the burn in his lungs from the sage was nothing compared to the fire beneath him. 

It was almost alarming, how much the angel was enjoying this.

“Not to worry,” Aziraphale said in a positively icy tone as smoke began to rise up above their heads, “I’m sure the smoke will be setting off the sprinklers soon. And I bet that'll burn just about anything left in you right out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm not kidding, I rewrote this chapter so many times, and I'm still not satisfied with parts of it. What a beast. I know I said two chapters, but I lied, there's gonna be one more with the focus back on Aziraphale and Crowley.
> 
> Anyhoo, kudos are great, comments are even better! Shoot me a message or a request [here!](https://the-sinnamon-roll-writes.tumblr.com/) My inbox is always open.


	3. Why We Do It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stunning conclusion! Aziraphale tells Crowley what he's been up to, and why, and they discuss some feelings. Accidentally turned into a bit of a character study for Crowley about halfway through. I hope the chapter title makes sense, I tried to tie them all together. It works in my mind.

Berith had been dead and smoldering for a while before Aziraphale actually left the building. He wanted to make sure that the fire was out and that there wasn’t too much of a mess left to be found by some unsuspecting human. He wasn’t able to fully miracle away the stains the demons made on the floor, but with enough will, the angel managed to hide all trace of fire and reduced the smell of sage and sulfur down to hardly-noticeable levels. Aziraphale all but went over the place with a fine-toothed comb to make sure there was nothing that might draw attraction from anyone, infernal or otherwise. It was only when he was satisfied that there was nothing that could be seen as out of the ordinary for an old empty building like this that he left for home. 

•••

Crowley smiled when he heard Aziraphale walk into the cottage and called out from the dining room. “I’m in here, angel! I’ve got a kettle on, if you want some tea!”

Aziraphale walked in and stood in the doorway to the dining room, watching Crowley set down his laptop and turn to greet him. He opened his mouth, most likely to ask where the angel had been before he froze in his seat. Almost imperceptibly, his tongue darted out from between his teeth, before he took a deep sniff. Aziraphale didn’t have a chance to comment; with the speed of a striking snake, Crowley was at his side, pulling the angel deeper into their home and peeking through a window. He scanned up and down the block quickly, then snapped his fingers and locked the door. 

“Were you followed by anyone? Did you notice anything suspicious?” he asked, turning to see Aziraphale sitting down at the table and pouring two cups of tea. 

Of course he would pick up on it right away. It had been foolish of Aziraphale to think he could tip-toe around his activities of the past few days. Perhaps he’d relied too heavily on the faith that the smell of sage would cover it up. He cursed himself mentally as he pushed one teacup over to Crowley and gestured for him to sit down. _‘Should’ve stopped somewhere and taken a shower.’_

“Well, don’t be mad, darling, but I, um, may have killed one or two demons. Or three.” Aziraphale didn’t need to elaborate on the demons in question- he knew that Crowley worked it out the minute he said ‘killed’. Neither of them were particularly fond of fighting- only something of great importance or necessity ever pushed them to lethal violence. 

“You _what?_ Aziraphale-”

“It’s not like they could track them back to us! I was very careful, dear. We’re safe, and they’re dead.”

“All of them? Berith too?” Despite himself, Crowley actually looked impressed when he finally sat down. “Never imagined you going around killing demons, angel.”

Aziraphale had the grace to try and look humble. “Oh, well, you know I was technically trained to do just that.”

“Thanks for not making it a habit,” Crowley said, trying and failing not to grin. “I can’t say I’m sorry he’s gone. Never once had a good interaction with that guy.”

“You had more than one interaction with him?” Aziraphale asked with a frown. Perhaps he’d gone too easy on him. 

“Not like the one you saw. I only encountered him... like _that_ the one time. But I did run into him on occasion when I had to report in. He was... well, he was a damned prick.”

Aziraphale squinted at Crowley suspiciously, but decided to let it go for now. “Yes, I certainly got that impression as well.”

“How’d you do it?”

“Holy water in the sprinklers. And I set them off by lighting a holy fire. It wasn’t exactly a quick death. Not over the span of months, of course, but I was feeling rather impatient. Didn’t particularly feel like dragging it out that long.”

“You’re an absolute idiot, you know that?” Admiration shone through Crowley’s yellow eyes as he looked upon his angel, completely contradicting his words. 

“I’ve been told that before. Many times, in fact, just by you alone,” Aziraphale answered calmly. 

A few moments passed in silence before Crowley spoke again. “Are you _sure_ there’s no way they can know it was you?”

Aziraphale looked down at the table where Crowley’s hands were unconsciously tracing shapes. before he said anything, the angel reached out and took both of those hands in his own and twined their fingers together. “I wouldn’t have done it if I weren’t. Love, if I thought that something was a risk to this- to what we’ve made- then I wouldn’t do it. I’m not going to give up our lives together.”

Crowley sighed, and Aziraphale could sense the meaning behind it- _‘you shouldn’t have risked it, you could’ve gotten hurt, I’m not worth the danger-’_ something like that. 

“Tell me something, dear. What would you have done if our situations were reversed? If you found out there were angels who had harmed me because they found out I helped you two hundred years ago?”

Crowley stiffened, and his eyes flitted upwards very briefly with a scowl. _“Are_ there any angels out there who hurt you because of me?”

“No, but how did you feel just then?”

“Like I was ready to march into Heaven and start tearing apart some white wings,” the demon admitted. “But it’s different... you’re _you_. Angel’s don’t deserve that sort of treatment. Demons-”

All of the sudden Aziraphale felt the anger from earlier rear its ugly head again. “Crowley, if you’re going to say you deserved that because your a demon again, I might just have to smite you. _You didn’t deserve Hell,_ do I make myself clear? That’s the last I want to hear of it. Now knock it off!”

There wasn’t much point in arguing with him over that- they’d had this conversation before, and Crowley never won. It didn’t help that Crowley hated actually fighting with him. 

Aziraphale suddenly had an epiphany then as he found himself once again thinking of Hell. “You really did want that water for protection then.”

“Wait, did you really think I wanted it to kill myself?” Crowley asked incredulously. “Seriously? I like myself too much to do that.”

“Well, you haven’t always,” Aziraphale accused with a frown. “You do have a history of... benders.”

Crowley looked down and took a large sip of tea, feeling rather awkward all of the sudden. His angel had found him drinking himself into a depressed stupor on far too many occasions, and each time he had remained at his side until he sobered up enough to talk about whatever it was that bothered him, even during periods when they hadn’t been talking. Sometimes he envied the way Aziraphale was able to see around the bad in the world. Sure, the angel got upset at the darker moments in human history- had been brought to tears on countless occasions- but somehow Aziraphale never fell into despair quite the same way Crowley did. 

_‘That’s probably because Crowley doesn’t have the same escape that I have,’_ Aziraphale realized as he studied his demon. While much of Heaven was cold and sterile, and the idea of divine mercy was absolutely laughable, there was no denying that it was still _Heaven._ There were parts of it that Aziraphale could escape to during the times when Earth was full of such unbearable hatred that reminded him of the good that the universe was capable of, and it helped tremendously. 

“Right. Have I- I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you for some of those. I ran off pretty quickly after the- erm, the World War One episode.”

Crowley had Hell to return to. And Aziraphale. Which, he supposed, explained quite well why he had grown so attached. If it was between Hell and an angel... Aziraphale fought to keep the pity off his face, and instead forced a smile. He’d been realizing so much about his demon recently, so many things he should’ve picked up on much earlier, and he felt terrible for not having done so. “No need to thank me, love. I’m- well, not exactly _happy_ to do it, but- you don’t need to thank me. It’s the least I could do.”

“You’re too good to me, angel.”

“Hardly. Even if I wasn’t frustratingly in love with you, I owe you my life several times over.”

“Suppose you have a point there,” Crowley said with a crooked grin. “I have gotten you out of a sticky situation or two.”

“Crowley dear, you truly didn’t deserve that. I find it hard to think _anyone_ would deserve that. But especially not you.”

“You’re a bit biased, you know.”

Aziraphale’s smile was much less forced when he reached out to cup Crowley’s cheek fondly. “Maybe. But I’m sure others would still agree. You, my love, are an incredibly special demon.”

“Oh, shut it, you old sap.” Crowley was smiling again, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of the hand that was still holding his. Staring coyly at Aziraphale, he lifted the angel’s hand up and pressed a kiss into the palm, sending a pleasant chill down Aziraphale’s spine. 

He didn’t let himself savor it for too long, opting instead to free his hand to return the gesture, kissing Crowley’s wrist gently. Despite his lips barely touching the demon’s cool skin, Aziraphale could feel the pulse there, slightly faster than usual, and a small part of him felt proud for eliciting such a reaction. What he wouldn’t do to feel that soft adoration all the time. Slowly, he let his hand come to rest with Crowley’s on the table while his other hand rose up to stroke back a lock of Crowley’s hair that had fallen into his face. Rather than letting it drop right away, Aziraphale continued to pet the demon’s hair, relishing in the blissful expression he was drawing out. 

“So where _was_ Berith? Where’d you find him?” Crowley finally asked once most of the tension he’d been holding on to started to recede. His eyes remained shut as he allowed himself to simply float there in the moment. “No one in Hell has seen him in forever.”

“I didn’t- I summoned him. Human magic, not a miracle,” he added when one of Crowley’s eyes opened and he shot Aziraphale a concerned look. “Nothing to attract attention. When I asked about where he was though, he said he’d been learning from damned souls.”

“Of course he was. That twisted...” Crowley trailed off with just the trace of an irritated expression. “Demons really suck.”

“Most of them, anyway,” Aziraphale said with a small smile. “I can think of at least one that I’m rather fond of.”

“At least? Do I have some competition, angel?” Crowley’s grin told his angel that he was just playing along. 

“Oh no, dearest. You blow all the competition out of the water.” The angel punctuated his sentence with a teasing kiss to Crowley’s nose. “Tell me, did Berith always have a southern accent, or was that new?”

“He had a _southern_ accent? Like, an _American_ southern accent? That’s new. I’m not sure, but if he were spending time around the souls, then I’d imagine he was just hanging around southerners and it rubbed off on him. I haven’t been down there around the human souls in a while, I’m not sure how the demographics add up any more.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said primly, “I’d imagine there’s a fair number of Americans there now, judging by how he sounded. It makes sense that there would be a lot of them. I very nearly couldn’t understand him.”

Just the thought of a demon having a southern accent- let alone the idea of Aziraphale struggling to understand said accent- made Crowley laugh, and once again, the angel found himself wondering how anyone would want to harm him. Without thinking, Aziraphale silenced him by leaning forward and kissing him again, a short, sweet gesture that both beings reveled in. Slow hands went up to touch the demon’s smooth cheeks again, fingers gently resting on Crowley’s cool skin. He was careful not to grab, to not make any forceful gestures. He needed Crowley to know that he was more than just a supporting roll in their relationship. That he had just as much control in it as Aziraphale. The power to pull back and stop whatever they were doing if it felt wrong. His heart soared when Crowley mirrored him, one hand caressing Aziraphale’s face as he returned the kiss eagerly. 

This was why Aziraphale went after the demons. To protect Crowley, and the life they’d made together, to remove a part of that dark cloud that hung over their relationship. The cloud that reminded them of what Crowley had gone through to protect his angel- Aziraphale couldn’t undo that, no matter how much he wished he could. But he was able to grant his demon some closure. And make a promise that anyone who tried to harm him again would be facing the wrath of the Principality of the Eastern Gate. Hopefully that would be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! The ending feels a little weak to me, but I feel like they've both earned their happy endings in this one, right?
> 
> Kudos welcome, comments encouraged! If you have a request, I'm right over [here.](https://the-sinnamon-roll-writes.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so there may have been a tad bit of projecting in some parts of this one too, sue me. Hurt/comfort is just my jam, people. The more I think about it, the more I'm pretty sure that there's gonna be a follow up for this one, so keep an eye out for that if you'd like.
> 
> I live for comments. Feel free to shoot me a request or just say hi @ https://the-sinnamon-roll-writes.tumblr.com/  
> Also I don't really expect anyone to, but if anyone likes to beta stuff, hmu.


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